The Professionals Circuit Archive

Past Sins

A Professionals story, using characters that don't belong to me, but I promise to return them when I'm through playing with them (no infringement intended). Rated NC-17 for graphic depictions of homoerotic sexuality, language and violence. Dedicated to Jennifer Lyon, for introducing me to a whole new world.

He should have listened the first time.

He'd reported the slashed tires, the brick through his window with the bloody rag wrapped around it, the sniper shot that had taken out his car's rear window. He'd gone through the list of possibles, tracked down some dead ends, kept an eye out. Nothing more for a few weeks. Doyle teased him about it, but his partner's eyes were watching as closely as his own were, maybe even more so. Everyone thought Bodie had the protective streak. Well, he did, he admitted it, but Ray had one too. He just covered it better.

It'd been a typical couple months. A diplomat to protect, a drug ring to smash, some corruption in a local constabulary to root out and quash. But the little things kept piling up. Bodie was beginning to think he was more paranoid than he had thought. His back itched. In Africa, that meant a bullet was on the way. But after itching, and itching, and itching some more, it didn't come.

It was making him nuts. He hated being stalked, especially when he didn't have a shred of evidence to take to Cowley. Hazard of the job, he'd always known, making enemies. He was used to them coming out of the shadows. But he wasn't used to having them stay there.

"Just the weekend, Bodie. C'mon, you'll enjoy it." He didn't usually plead, but he was on edge, and he didn't want to have Bodie out of sight. His partner's antsiness was affecting him, and he wanted to stick around him. Just in case. In case of what he didn't know, but just in case.

"No, Ray, you go. I've some things to do in town."

On a Friday night? Usually Ray'd think it was a bird, but these weren't usual times. He stared at the shuttered face, and sighed, disgruntled that his normally effective 'big green eyes' look wasn't working. He hated it when Bodie got this way. "Want some company?" Hopefully.

"No, thanks." Bodie gave him a jaunty smirk, and he smiled back dutifully in response. He was hiding something. Well, they'd just have to see about that, now, wouldn't they?

"Sure. See ya Monday then." With a quick nod he turned and headed for his car. Glancing with practiced ease over his shoulder he noted the direction Bodie took as he left the building, and swung into his trail, keeping a discreet distance. As they ventured closer to the docks, he fell a little further behind. Not a lot of traffic out here, and Bodie had very sharp night vision. He watched as his partner parked in a small lot next to warehouse, then left his own car, slipping into the shadows to follow. The big man checked, looking quickly behind him, directly at the spot where Ray had concealed himself. He held his breath, holding completely still, until the penetrating gaze reluctantly swung around front. Licking his lips at the sudden dryness in his mouth, Doyle pushed off from the wall and followed his best friend into the maze of rundown buildings along the docks.

It hadn't changed a damned bit. The Boar's Head was just as dirty, smoky, falling-down ugly as it had ever been. For a moment he was transported back, a mercenary again, wasting time between one contract and another, looking for a stiff drink and an easy bird to make the night go faster. His lips quirked at the immediate ease he felt, and he shook his head slightly as he made his way to the bar. Whoever had been stalking him hadn't turned up in the search of CI5 files, which meant the grudge went back further. It had to be here. And if it was, he'd find it.

Doyle moved like an alley cat around the side of the building, carefully raising his face to peer through the narrow side window. It was a mean place, and Bodie fit in as if he were born there. He bit his lower lip at the thought and argued with himself for a moment. Bodie could take care of himself, had been doing it since he was a kid, wouldn't appreciate his partner sticking his nose in where it wasn't invited, had made it quite clear he didn't want Doyle around while he was doing ... whatever the hell it was he was doing. But the counter argument stilled all the other voices. This was Bodie. He had to back his partner up. Even if he refused the offer, he still had to be there. Ducking back around the side of the building, looking for a back entrance where he might be able to slip in unobserved, he was unprepared for the cosh that came out of nowhere and slammed into the back of his head.

Something was wrong. Bodie's head came up, like a hunting dog catching the scent of a rabbit, but he didn't hear anything over the noise. Gritting his teeth, he shook off the feeling. He had to find out what the hell was going on, and soon, before he went completely around the bend. Peering around the smoky room, he found what he was looking for -- a short, compact balding man sitting at a table near the back. Warner. If anyone knew what was going down, it would be Warner. Now to get him to talk.

His head felt like it was exploding. He moved it cautiously, trying not to groan as the pain doubled. Forcing his eyes open, he looked around the dark room. It looked familiar but the pain in his head was making him fuzzy, and he couldn't quite place it. Midmorning sunlight was streaming through the side window. He was lying on his side, arms pulled behind him, hands tied tightly. 'Not again,' he thought grumpily, then froze as a hand came down over his face from behind him, brushing his hair lightly back from his eyes.

"Welcome back, Moppet."

His eyes went wide. He didn't recognize the voice, but something in it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "Who are you?" Not as strong as he would have liked, but cold, and calm, at least. "What do you want?"

A throaty chuckle answered him. "Oh, that's a loaded question, now, innit?" The hand came down again, threading fingers through the curls at his temple, then the voice was close, right at his ear, warm breath blowing against his skin. He shivered at the sensation. "Who I am is none of your concern, lad. You're a means to an end." The mouth made contact, lips teasing at his ear lobe. He tried to jerk away and the fingers tightened in his hair, holding his head immobile. Teeth bit lightly at the tendon below his ear, tongue soothing the small sting. "What do I want? Oh, you know that, if you think on it awhile. It's a cat and mouse game, darlin', and I'm the cat. Billy Bodie's the mouse." Ray's body twitched involuntarily, and the throaty chuckle was back. "And you? You're a nice juicy bit of cheese." The mouth retreated, the fingers unwound from his hair, but before he could turn his head to look at his tormentor a black leather strip covered his eyes. He flinched away but couldn't escape the blindfold. The ends were carefully tied, and he was somewhat reassured by the care his captor took to ensure that he didn't pull his hair when it was tied on. Then he heard the flick of a switchblade, and his blood froze. As a hand pulled the thin material of his teeshirt away from his stomach and he felt the cool blade insinuate itself between the fabric and his flesh, he heard the voice next to his ear again.

"I have a fancy for cheese, meself."

Several pints later, Warner was well oiled, Bodie was tenser than ever, and the answers were no closer. He stared moodily into his beer, pondering his next move. His instincts were screaming at him that it was close to the end game, that he'd better find his man soon, or all hell was going to break loose. Swallowing the last of the beer, he nodded cordially at Warner and headed toward the door. There were several more bolt holes for his ex-mates in the seamier side of the city. He might as well get cracking. It would take all night as it was ... and probably the rest of the weekend as well.

Ray held himself completely still as the blade sliced through his shirt, baring his chest. The ripping noise as his captor tore the remains from his shoulders startled him, and he winced as the material burned his neck. He concentrated on controlling his breathing, straining to hear what the creep would do next, trying to work out some sort of move, find the right time to kick out, escape. His trainers were slipped off, then his socks, and he wriggled as a cold metal cuff snapped shut around each ankle. The ropes that had been binding his legs were cut away, and he tugged experimentally. Both his feet were caught fast. He felt the tip of the knife slide under his waistband and he sucked in his breath sharply.

"Shit. Watch it there!" He couldn't stop the hissed warning. That damnable throaty chuckle answered him again.

"You'll just have to stay still, then, won't you, Moppet?" The knife slid easily through the thin denim, even the doubled material of the waistband, and Doyle's eyes squeezed tightly shut behind the blindfold at the thought of just how sharp the blade had to be to part cotton fiber as if it was butter. He stayed still as death as the knife ran the length of his pelvis, thigh, over the curve of his knee and down his shin, then repeated the movement on the other side. In moments he was nude. "Hm, I like that," his tormentor sighed, running the flat of the blade gently over the creamy skin of his abdomen. Doyle held back his squeak of alarm only through sheer willpower. Getting a bit close to the jewels with that wicked thing. "Shorts a waste of time, eh, mate? And why keep all this wrapped up." The cool metal of the knife was replaced by the hot wetness of a mouth, and he jumped as he felt lips close around his balls, sucking hard.

"God! What the bleedin' hell are you doin'?!" It would have sounded much tougher if it hadn't been half an octave higher than his usual tone.

"Been awhile, has it?" The suction stopped long enough for the question, then returned, on the head of his cock this time. Powerful hands wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer, and he gasped out what he hoped was a protest as that damned mouth slid all the way down his cock, then bobbed slowly up and down, suckling strongly all the time.

"No!" His mind was shrieking at him to stop, to get away, to hide, but the hands and the mouth on him were talented, and his body was paying no attention to his mind. The unrelenting pressure was driving him higher and higher, then he felt one hand leave his hip and dive between his thighs, parting his legs and changing the angle of entry just enough that he was suddenly clear into the man's throat. The sensation was incredible, and he was fighting not to climax, when the hand at his sac speared upward and a finger thrust deeply inside his ass. He jerked away, only to thrust deeper into that mouth, but he was held too tightly to go far.

"Damn you, no!!" The finger hooked, scraping against the gland deep inside, and the unexpected lance of pleasure tore a scream from his throat as he went over the edge. His orgasm took him by surprise with its intensity, incoherent with it, the moaned "no" turning into a "god, yes" without his permission, without even his acknowledgment.

Before he had a chance to recover, he felt the cot shift under him, and the heat of muscled thighs settled between his. A broad hand milked the last of his orgasm from him, hard, fast, painful, and he felt the cot sway with the same rhythm. Suddenly the hand on his body stilled, squeezed once hard enough to wring a gasp of pain from him, and he felt a warm flood of liquid spill across his thighs. A heavy weight settled against him for a moment, and he felt the other man nuzzle the side of his neck. He smelled of cinnamon and sweat, not an unpleasant combination in other circumstances. "Damn, you're sweet, Moppet. Now I know why Billy's been hidin' you."

Doyle couldn't quite catch his breath, his heartbeat still thundering in his ears. As he lay panting, the cot shifted a third time and the warm weight disappeared. Working his throat and trying to calm the tremors in his body, he was unprepared for the sudden hard clamp of fingers around his forearm. Before he could move, he felt a needle bite deeply into the vein at his elbow. "Oh, damnit, no-"

"Sleepy time, Moppet," that hateful voice murmured, and he felt the world slip away.

Bodie couldn't believe his eyes. "What the bloody hel-" the exclamation was strangled before it was finished. Wide, midnight blue eyes ranged disbelievingly down the sprawled figure of his partner, slender wrists cuffed to the posts at the corners of his headboard, the links spot-welded so that they couldn't be unlocked, had to be broken open. His gold-brown curls were plastered damply to his skull, rivulets of sweat making shiny tracks along his cheeks to pool on the shiny gold chain encircling his throat. The thin chest rose and fell with each rapid breath he pulled into his lungs. In Bodie's room. On Bodie's bed.

Stark naked.

He felt a giggle rising in his throat, shock, no doubt, and clamped down fiercely on it. Doyle didn't appear to be injured, just ... exhausted. From the fine trembling in his long limbs and the amount of still somewhat sticky fluid splashed across his thighs and abdomen, he had a right to be tired. Bodie stumbled forward, the heavy scent of sex hanging in the air going straight to his head, making him dizzy. He must have made some sound that he wasn't aware of, for heavy-lidded grass green eyes slowly opened and attempted to focus on him.

"Bodie? That you?" The normally brisk voice was slurred, raspy. Bodie swallowed dryly at the thought of the possible reasons for that rasp -- screaming and moaning being the first to spring to mind -- then forced his mind back to the present.

"Yeah, sunshine," he answered quietly. He only realized he was at the edge of the bed when his knee bumped into the mattress. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the lean lines so close to his hands. Of their own volition his fingertips rose to brush lightly through the silky hair in the center of his partner's chest. The skin under his fingers shivered, and a sound that could only be described as a purr rumbled from Doyle's throat. The green eyes slipped shut again.

" S'good, mate. 'S really good."

Sinking onto the bed beside him, Bodie worked his hands across the silky skin of the smaller man's shoulders, along the corded muscles in arms held too long extended, to the welded locks, trying to concentrate on something other than his body's reaction to the sight of Ray, stretched and waiting and thoroughly used. The ache in his groin was battling with a growing sense of jealous outrage. Doyle was his, damnit, even though they weren't actually lovers, and he never had specifically told him, and he wasn't really completely certain how Ray felt, but still -- no one else could have him. Not like this.

Not when he couldn't.

Whoever had done this had known precisely what he was doing. The cuffs were lightly padded, to protect the tender skin of his wrists, and there was a single, pinprick bruise at the bend of his elbow. When they shot him up they'd done the least amount of damage to get the maximum amount of docility. Then Doyle had been unwrapped, trussed up, turned on and turned inside out, then left for him like a pressie on Christmas morning. One hand stroked the curls back from Doyle's forehead, while the other reached for the tool kit tucked under the head of the bed. First to get Ray to hospital for any medical help he might need, clean him up and clean him out, then to find the bastard who did this.

Message received. And this one he would respond to. With deadly force. No more pissing around.

Ray couldn't remember the last time he'd been this embarrassed. Thank God he hadn't actually been awake when Bodie'd found him and cut him down, but he'd been told all about it. Murph had made sure of that. He grumbled, feeling very alert and ridiculously fit to be kept in hospital overnight. They'd wanted to make sure the drugs were completely clear of his system, but he hadn't really been given that much, and the bastard hadn't really hurt him. His mind shied away from what had been done to him. It was just too bloody embarrassing.

"Caught like an amateur, Doyle, sneaking about outside a dockside tavern, taken by a man you didna even glimpse, trussed like a turkey shot up and ..." Cowley's growl faded for a moment, and the old man cleared his throat before he finished his tirade. "And left like an unwanted parcel on Bodie's doorstep!"

"Not quite, unwanted or doorstep," the younger man muttered wryly.

"What was that?" Fierce eyes glared at him.

"Nothin', sir. Sorry, sir." He straightened on the bed, feeling awfully like a little boy in the headmaster's office. Trying his best to present a professional front, not an easy task in a hospital smock, he wrinkled his brow to indicate deep concentration and fixed narrowed green eyes on his boss. "I didn't get a look at him, sir, but I did hear his voice, and got an approximate physical description from the way he felt- er, from other observations." He had to stop to clear his own throat, then plowed ahead. "He was about six two, thirteen stone, big hands, very fit." He stopped, swallowed, blinked as he remembered just how fit. "And he had an accent." His eyes lost focus for a moment and he deliberately put himself back in the events of the previous night, searching for clues to the man's identity. "Soft, unusual, sort of a rolling -- Bodie!"

Cowley looked around for a moment, then, not seeing Doyle's partner, glared back at the young man. "You're not saying it was Bodie did this?"

"No sir," Ray hastened to say. "It was just ... sometimes when Bodie's talking he'll say something and the words'll have this sort of lilt to them, he picked it up knocking about in Africa. I'll bet money it was a merc, sir."

"Someone from Bodie's past, come back for him, then?" The growl was gone, the clear eyes thoughtful, and Doyle fancied he could actually see the gears turning in Cowley's mind. He nodded, and Cowley pursed his lips. "Get your rest, lad. We'll be needing you in the morning." As he turned to sweep out the door, Doyle's voice stopped him.

"Sir? Is Bodie ... all right? I've not seen him since I came to and I was wonderin'." The worry was just under the surface, and not particularly well hidden.

"He's all right, Doyle. Following up on something he heard last night. Murphy's with him," forestalling the anticipated desire to back up his partner, "and you need to sleep."

Ray chewed on the inside of his cheek and refrained from saying what was on his mind.

Murphy wasn't quite sure what to make of Bodie's mood. It was dangerous, that was certain. and determined ... and just a bit distracted. This last was not a word he ever thought of in regard to Bodie when he was on assignment. It had him more than a little worried.

"You, er, wanna talk about it?" he offered tentatively.

"Talk 'bout what?" Bodie responded, not taking his eyes from the road in front of the car.

"Whatever it is that's eating you?" Maybe he'd better not dig too deep.

"No."

Well, that settled that. When Bodie got that tone the best thing to do was just back off and watch the fireworks. "Fine by me." He watched the lights and the buildings blur past, then ventured, "If you wanna talk, though-"

"Thanks anyway."

End of conversation.

It was going to be a very long night.

Three pubs later, Murphy's head was swimming, the grim lines in Bodie's face were deeper than ever, and they hadn't a shred more information than they begin the hunt with. As they sat in the car, Bodie drumming his fingers restlessly on the wheel as he thought out the next stop, the radio crackled to life.

"Alpha to 3.7," Cowley's voice rolled across the cab.

"3.7 here."

"4.5 woke up and it looks like we may have something."

Bodie's entire body leaned forward. "He's all right then?" The question was very tense.

"Yes, he's fine, and he says that the captor had an accent. Much like yours." The dispatcher gave them the physical description, such as it was, that Ray was able to come up with, along with the patchy information on the accent. "Looks like we need to go back a little further, 3.7. Past sins catching up with you, and all that."

Bodie nodded, then affirmed verbally, "Looks like it, sir. We are pursuing that possibility now."

"Go to it then. Alpha out." The hiss of the open line was replaced with silence, and Bodie slowly hung the handset on the hook. Staring out into the late night darkness of London, he took a deep breath and wondered what would take so long to catch up to him, and why it would target Ray Doyle.

By eight am Ray had had quite enough. He was healthy, he was rested, he hated hospitals and he needed to be with Bodie. As he was pestering the nurse about bringing him some clothes, he heard a slight commotion from the hall. Clasping his smock firmly around his torso, he peeked around the corner. A stretcher was just coming down the hall, at a very fast clip. Flattening himself against the wall, he watched it pass, and felt as though he'd been kicked in the gut. It was Murphy, oxygen mask over his face, with the Old Man himself coming up behind.

Ignoring his state of undress he followed the short procession, peering through the window as the doctors fell to working on his friend. Cowley watched for a moment, had a word with the doctor, then looked up and saw Doyle's worried face at the door. Excusing himself, he let himself back out into the corridor and faced his agent.

"He's going to make it, 4.5. Took a bullet to the ribs, but they got to him quickly, and he didn't lose much blood." Doyle opened his mouth to ask and Cowley beat him to it. "We don't know where Bodie is. We found the car in a lot behind a shopping centre. The radio was smashed, there were signs of a struggle and bloodshed that wasn't from Murphy. Tire tracks lead from the site toward town but disappear once they get to the surface streets. We're working on it. Get your clothes on, Doyle, and get back to work."

"Haven't got any, sir." Doyle stared at Cowley. Cowley stared at Doyle.

"Right." He turned to catch the arm of an agent just exiting Murphy's room. "Get some clothes for Doyle here and get out to that lot and get to work." Without another word he turned and went back into the surgery. Doyle nodded at the other agent.

"I'm in room 102. Make it fast."

The drug was taking its own sweet time wearing off. Bodie felt rather like a very good bowler had been using his head for a wicket. He vaguely remembered coming up to the car after yet another informant had had nothing for him, only to see Murphy go down. As he reached for his own gun he felt the bullet wing his arm, then a sting at his collarbone, then the world tilted and went black. Nothing after that until he woke up here ... wherever the hell here was. He tried unsuccessfully to bite back a groan, then squinted at the dim light in the room. He shifted his shoulders and heard metal clanking at the same time he recognized the hard feel of shackles on his wrists. Well and truly caught.

"Well, 'ello, Billy."

Fuck all. He knew that voice. Intimately. "Harp." Thought he'd died in Angola. "Thought you were dead."

A throaty chuckle answered him, but without the warmth he usually associated with the sound. The voice was pure ice. "So you thought. Wrong." A tall figure stepped from the shadowed corner of the room, coming to a stop a few feet in front of Bodie's slumped form. He knelt, watching his captive with an odd mixture of hatred and desire in his light blue eyes. What light there was in the room glinted off short cropped hair the color of straw, and highlighted the wicked scar that bisected his left eyebrow, then began again at the corner of his eye, running the length of his face to stop an inch from his jawline. Bodie's eyes widened at the sight. "Very nearly was, but not quite. Not that you were of any help, luv. If I'd counted on you I'd still be rotting in the jungle, now, wouldn't I?"

Bodie swallowed with a suddenly very dry throat. This was not a good situation. And it was worsening. Rapidly. Harp took a switchblade from the side of his boot and flicked it open. "They told me you were dead, mate. I barely got out myself. It's been almost five years-"

"Five years of hell, luv." Icy venom in the interruption. "Five years to think. To survive any way I could. And five years to figure out precisely what I'd do when I had you again."

Bodie stared at the blade in front of his face, fascination and dread coiling in his stomach. None of it showed on his face, but he could feel fine tremors starting in his hands. Had to distract him, had to draw him out ... had to buy some time. "Why'd you do what you did to Doyle, Harp?" he whispered.

The blond smiled sweetly at him. "Ah, the Moppet. He's sweet, that one, Billy. I can understand your fascination with 'im." The blade flicked out and bit him, a tiny nick at the front of his sweater. A hole appeared in the material. "And his with you, of course," the voice purred on. Another flick, another bite, another hole. "You make quite a pretty pair." Another hole. Blood was trickling down his chest from the small cuts, not enough to really hurt, just enough to sting. "Of course, when I'm done you won't be quite so pretty." Another bite, this one a bit deeper, enough to draw a gasp from him. "But he'll still be. Think I'll look him up when we're ... done." Bodie jerked forward involuntarily, then froze as the tip of the blade hovered at his navel. One further flick, one more bite, and the pullover was opened all the way down the front.

"Not that I'm in any hurry," Harp continued thoughtfully, and the blade flicked through the button on Bodie's slacks. "After all, five years is a long time." He outlined the bulge of Bodie's cock through the fine wool, and Bodie stopped breathing. "A very long time." Abruptly, Harp reached out with his left hand and wrenched the zip down, then grabbed the waistband in his fist and yanked it down around his knees. "And I've been waiting for this."

He stood, kicked Bodie's legs flat with one foot, and efficiently twisted the slacks off Bodie's legs. When Bodie twitched as if to kick at him, the blade was immediately at the base of his cock. "Wouldn't do that, luv. Not just yet. I have plans for you." Bodie quieted, and Harp flipped him over onto his stomach, tearing the remnants of his sweater from his back. Bodie found his breath coming rapidly, feeling vulnerable in a way he hadn't felt in years, and behind him he could hear the change in the other man's breathing. The knife began to trace light patterns over the skin of his back, and he squeezed his eyes shut and prepared himself for a very long night. "I've always liked your back, Billy-luv. Smooth as cream." The knife bore harder, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake, a line of fire on Bodie's nerves. "Dreamed about this," the voice was a whisper now. He shivered, and Harp laughed, a full throated, slightly mad, utterly frightening sound.

The first one made the mistake of gawking at Ray's curls. It took a bucket of water to bring him 'round, and he didn't talk well for a few days after that, until the swelling went down. After he hit the deck, the others in the pub looked past the head of burnished curls, the straight nose and the curve of the lips, to the hard green eyes and the air of purpose. The slender hands were faster than they looked, and the man had all the charm of an enraged rattler. Doyle wanted information. Two pubs and three fast fights later, he found it.

"I think it'd'be Terry Harper, lad," the squat sailor with a crease in the side of his face told him. "Knew Bodie, 's a good 'un. But Harp's a right bast'rd. And he's back home now, saw t'other night wit' Warner ofer at the Boar. Iffen Bodie'd be lookin' fer anybody, he'd go to Warner. And Warner's in Harp's hip pocket."

Doyle bought him another pint, and headed further into the maze of ramshackle buildings on the waterfront, looking for the Boar, Warner, and any indication he could find of his Bodie. A few moments later he found himself outside the bar where he'd been kidnapped two nights previous. "The bloody bastard," he muttered under his breath, then slipped around to the back. Picking the lock deftly, he slunk into the storeroom in the back, then snuck out to the main taproom, coming silently up behind the stout man he had seen Bodie speaking with. He slipped his gun from the holster with his left hand and brought it up under Warner's chin, dropping his CI5 id in front of the startled man's eyes with his right hand.

"Doyle, CI5. You have something I want." Not a question, just a low voiced command.

Warner sat stock still, afraid to even breath hard. "Whassat?" he mumbled.

"Terry Harper." Ray felt the shudder pass through the older man's frame through the barrel of his gun. "He's got my mate. Now I want him."

"I don't kno-" the words were cut off as the end of the barrel dug into the soft skin at the top of his throat.

"Yes. You do. Now talk." Doyle's soft voice dropped even further. "Or me finger'll slip."

Warner closed his eyes. Harp was a mean sod, and would kill him for this. But he knew death when he heard it, and he heard it in this man's voice. Maybe he'd have time to run. "Farringdon by Blackfriars Station. Got a flat there in the back of a warehouse." Hopefully he'd have time to run. Maybe he'd get lucky and they'd kill Harp. The gun withdrew slowly and he remembered to breathe, only to lose the breath as the barrel pushed lightly behind his ear.

"I know you now. If anythin' happens to Bodie, you're next." Then the barrel disappeared, and the man with it. Warner didn't stop to think. He just moved as quickly as he could out the door, in the opposite direction he had just sent the cop. The jungle was looking damned inviting right about now.

Bodie came to again as the cold water cascaded over his head. His back was on fire, but the rest of him was freezing. Harp had been at him all night, first with the knife, then with his hands, then pulling his legs apart and rutting at him in a nightmare travesty of the sex they'd once shared freely. He ached from his eyes to his feet, and he was so tired. But Harp wouldn't let him sleep. He had no voice left, he'd clamped down on the screams as long as he could but Harp wouldn't let him get away with that either, battering at him, finding the tender spots and hitting him just so, slicing with that wicked knife until he didn't know it was him screaming. Didn't know where he was, when it was, if it was the jungle or the sea or London or hell, pretty sure it was the last. Through the thunder in his head and the fire under his skin and the lights behind his eyes he could hear the goddamned laughter, going on and on and on. How he wished the sonuvabitch would choke on his laugher -- His rambling thoughts were interrupted by the explosion as the door flew off its hinges. Harp turned toward the sound, bloody knife in one hand, other hand shading his eyes from the sudden brightness of the lamps shining in through the darkness. Spinning back to his captive, he lunged forward, knife extended. He had waited for this too long, he would not be denied Bodie's death. Before he could thrust it home, two bullets, fired so closely together they sounded like one, ripped through his back and out his chest. The impact threw him forward against the wall, the knife falling from fingers suddenly gone slack. He leaned against the solidity of the wall for a few moments before gravity prevailed and he slowly slid into a crumpled heap, dead before he came to rest. Doyle was at Bodie's side before the sound of the shots had completely died, two slender fingers searching out a pulse in the too-pale skin at the side of his partner's neck. Bodie stirred, and Ray took a deep breath of relief when he found the pulse.

"We need an ambulance here!" he screamed, then leaned forward to pull off his jacket and wrap it around his mate. "Hold on, sunshine," he murmured, unsure if Bodie could hear him but needing the reassurance of his own words. "I've got ya now, you're safe, nobody's gonna hurt you now." He was still repeating the words to his partner's unconscious form when the attendants arrived and pried him off. He followed the stretcher to the ambulance and climbed aboard, sparing only one glance at the man who had kidnapped him and hurt his Bodie so badly. The glance confirmed that there was no life in the staring blue eyes, he'd shot true. Savage satisfaction ripped through him for a split second, then his eyes fell back to Bodie and worry edged out all other emotions. He wasn't used to seeing his partner looking so ... fragile.

It was another long night, full of questions and paperwork and worry. Shortly after noon they got the word that Bodie would be fine, aside from some blood loss and shock. Harper hadn't shot him full of drugs as he had with Doyle; apparently he'd wanted Bodie to feel everything he did to him. The worst of the cuts would leave some scarring, which should fade over time, and there were some internal injuries, but nothing too extensive. Mainly internal bruising and, well, the doctors didn't specify. But Doyle knew, he'd seen the blood and semen on his partner's thighs, the bruising on his ass nearly but not quite obliterated by the blood flowing from the cuts on his back. Harper hadn't been gentle. He'd wanted to hurt him, and he had. And if Ray could have killed him again, he would have, with pleasure. Only slower, this time.

Doyle slept for nine hours straight after the doctor gave Bodie the all-clear. That night, well after visiting hours, he snuck into the hospital and crept down the hall to Bodie's door. His partner was awake, which didn't surprise him in the least.

"Hey, sunshine," he called softly, not wanting to startle him. Dark eyes rose to meet him, and a small smile appeared on the somber face. "You're looking a sight better than you were last I saw you."

Bodie didn't raise to the bait, ignoring the teasing tone to stare directly at Ray. There was a sort of hunger in his eyes that the older man had never seen displayed quite so openly. Oh, he'd had his suspicions, and there were times when he'd very nearly asked, or made a move, thinking it might be welcomed. But the invitation was always shuttered so quickly. Now it was as if all the walls had been torn down, and he could see right through Bodie's eyes into his soul. "Ray." His voice was hoarse, painful sounding.

"Don't try to talk, mate. He did a number on you, and it's gonna take awhile to get back on your feet." Bodie shrugged irritably, and Doyle grinned at him. "Don't knock it, Bodie, I've seen the Sister! I didn't know they made 'em that pretty!" He perched on the edge of the cot and leaned in, speaking softly so that they wouldn't discover him and throw him out. As he opened his mouth to tease Bodie some more about getting the cutest girl in the hospital on his ward, a strong hand shot out and wrapped around the back of his neck. Before he could think to protest, he found himself sprawled across Bodie's lap, help tightly in Bodie's arms, being kissed senseless by Bodie's mouth. As his jaw relaxed, Bodie licked at his teeth, outlining his lips with the tip of his tongue before delving in and exploring the warmth of Ray's mouth. Doyle's hands clenched in the sheets on either side of Bodie's hips, careful to keep his weight as much off his partner as he could, considering how tightly the bigger man was holding him. Then the sweetness and urgency in the kiss submerged him, and he stopped trying to think at all.

The door swung silently open behind Ray's back, screened from Bodie's view by the curls he was clutching. The night nurse took one look at the passionate clinch, remembered the dogged determination of her new patient to stay by the side of the other man just a few nights ago, looked at the pill on her tray, and backed back out of the door. It wouldn't hurt to wait a few minutes for this.

When they finally broke for air, Ray's eyes were huge, his face was flushed, and his lips were swollen. Bodie looked much the same, save for narrow, determined eyes and a pugnaciously thrust out jaw. "Thought I was gonna die, sunshine. Didn't want to die without at least telling you."

Swallowing to get enough moisture in his throat to make his voice work, Ray managed, "Tell me what, mate?"

"Want you." Ray's eyes got, if possible, even larger. Bodie forged ahead. "Love you, even. Wanted to kill Harp for what he'd done, touching you like that-" Doyle tried to interrupt, assure his partner that he was all right, assert his own anger at the way Harper had hurt Bodie, but the other man didn't give him the chance. "-you're mine, damnit, and I had to tell you that."

Doyle sat, his head caught in Bodie's hands, staring at the younger man, caught between disbelief, rampant lust, and the urge to laugh his head off. "I'm yours?" Bodie nodded, determined. "Then ... you're mine?" Another nod, equally decisive. "And ... we're ... ours?" A third nod, then Bodie pulled him in for another soul-stealing kiss.

This time, she made sure the door rattled before she actually entered the room. Her patient was laying on his side to minimize pressure to the wounds on his back, precisely as he was supposed to, and his visitor was sitting docilely on the chair beside the bed, staring at the man on the bed with a stunned expression. She cleared her throat and used her best 'Sister tone.' "Visiting hours are over, sir. You'll have to leave now." He stared briefly at her, an endearingly confused expression on his face, then stared at his friend again.

"Uhm, right, then, I'll be by to pick you up on Friday morning, right?" Bodie nodded, midnight eyes fixed on Doyle's face, not saying a word. "Right," Ray repeated, then headed somewhat unsteadily toward the door. The night nurse handed the pill and the glass of water to Bodie, watched as he downed it, and smiled warmly.

"Sleep tight." As he watched the door swing shut behind his partner, he wondered if he'd ever sleep again, or if he should just go out and shoot himself now. Because when Doyle came out of shock, he was going to kill him.

It was a long, thoughtful and very strange three days for Ray Doyle. But when the sun came up at the end of the week and he headed off to the hospital to retrieve his mate, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

Bodie was flirting with the nurse when he came into the room. His partner was already dressed, ready to go, the paperwork all filled out, anxious to leave, half afraid to go. He froze when Doyle came in the room, ready to blame all his actions that late night on pain medication if Ray so much as mentioned them. Ray smiled sunnily at him and winked at the nurse.

"So, sunshine, ready to break out of this joint?"

The cheerful voice gave no hint that anything at all had changed in their partnership. No hint of the secrets shared over several kisses in the middle of the night. Maybe he wouldn't have to blame the drugs. Maybe Ray was just going to ignore it, pretend it didn't happen. Bodie breathed deeply around the sudden tightness of disappointment in his chest. It was better this way. "Ready when you are, or sooner!" he joked back to his partner.

As they headed out into the day he caught himself staring at Ray, looking for some indication that there was something going on behind those bright green eyes, other than the norm. He couldn't find anything there. Ray teased him about his breakfast, drove deliberately carefully "for the invalid's sake," and was his usual joking pain-in-the-ass self. He felt himself begin to relax, then realized they weren't headed for his flat.

"Where we goin', sunshine?"

"Convalescent house, mate."

This he certainly hadn't expected. "Why? That's daft. I'm perfectly health-" Before he could finish the aggrieved statement they swept up to an eighteenth century house off Old Compton Street. Bodie's comment turned to a low whistle. "Hazlitt's? Who'd you rob, sunshine?"

Doyle grinned at him. "Pulled in a favor or two-"

"Or six," interjected Bodie.

"-from some theatre friends of mine. We have rooms for the weekend. Nothing to do but to lay back, relax, eat and rest up." Bodie looked for luggage, conspicuously absent, raising a brow at his partner. Doyle grinned in response, then held up a door key. "Already taken care of, mate. Now, in we go."

Doyle nodded to an acquaintance as they crossed the lobby, ignoring Bodie's ongoing under-his-breath commentary about nobs, and led his partner to their rooms. Shutting the door behind them, Ray leaned against it and bolted it. Bodie got two steps inside the room and realized that there was only one bed. He froze, then tried a small joke.

"So, where're you gonna sleep, sunshine?"

Strong, slender arms wrapped around his waist, and he felt the unmistakable stirring of an erection pressed against his buttocks. Doyle's breath was warm and moist against the side of his neck as he breathed, "Right beside you, darlin'," in his ear.

"Darlin'?" he ventured, and the hands at his waist turned him around.

"Well, yeah, mate, that's one of the things I call someone when I love 'im, when he's said he loved me, and when I've gone out of m'way to set up a weekend hideaway where we can be alone and I can love him to pieces." All the while Doyle was quite seriously explaining this to Bodie he was walking him backward, using his body to steer the larger man, until the back of Bodie's knees fetched up against the side of the bed. Bodie sat down abruptly, sinking into the soft mattress. "That is, if you meant it," Ray continued, dropping his hands to rest on Bodie's shoulders to either side of his neck, sweeping his thumbs up the front of his throat, tipping his head at just the right angle to cover his mouth with his own. Bodie found himself propped up on shaking arms, unable to believe that his partner was kissing him just as thoroughly as he had kissed Doyle three nights before. As Ray knelt on the bed over him, one knee on either side of his thighs, Bodie's arms gave out and he lay back against the bed. Doyle followed him down, not allowing their mouths to part, then rolled them over gently so that he lay under the larger man. "Spare the back, eh, Bodie?" he managed to ask when he finally let the other man's mouth free. Both men were panting for breath just from the force of the kiss, and Bodie could feel his mate's reaction, his erection rubbing against his own. His pulse sped up to match his breathing, and he felt a full smile take over his face. Looking down at an equally wide grin creasing Ray's cheeks, he laughed slightly.

"Do I have the same goofy grin on my mug you have on yours, I wonder?" Ray nodded, chuckling at the description.

"Come here and give me reason for it, sunshine," Doyle whispered, and pulled Bodie back down to his waiting mouth. Bodie held back just long enough to peel the thin shirt off his partner's slender frame, tossing it in the general direction of the floor. Doyle returned the favor, pushing the turtleneck up and over his mate's shoulders, and it landed draped haphazardly across the top of the bedside lamp. Bodie ran his hands firmly up the lean muscle of the older man's chest, tickling the curls there, stopping to tease a nipple with his fingertips, running his free hand down and behind his partner to knead the curve of his ass. Ray slid closer, careful of the healing cuts on the bigger man's back, tasting and teasing all the sensitive spots he could find, a pink nipple, the curve of his throat, the hollow at the back of his jaw, a tempting ear lobe. Their hands roamed freely, until they were restricted by the clothes they still wore, then they busied themselves divesting themselves as rapidly as they could of those clothes. When they were finally bare together, Doyle put one hand out against Bodie's chest, stopping him for the moment.

"Hold on there, luv. You have to take it easy." Bodie looked at him in disbelief. "Hey, I'm offerin' to do the work here, Bodie. Don't knock it."

His partner grinned at him recklessly. "Go to it, lad," he urged, and Doyle did, pushing him gently against the soft pillows and reaching into the side drawer for a tube he'd put there earlier. He'd known precisely what he wanted, but since Bodie wouldn't be able to give it to him until he'd healed, he'd settle for receiving this time and giving later. When Bodie saw what he had in his hand, his eyes widened and his cock jumped. Doyle noticed the reaction and gave him a wicked look.

"I see at least part of you likes the idea," he teased, tossing the tube to his partner. Bodie caught it easily.

"All of me likes it, sunshine," he answered huskily. "You sure about this, Ray?" A serious question, heart in his normally unreadable eyes.

"Sure as I'm lying here, Bodie," he reassured him. "Does this-" he swept an expressive hand over his ready body, erection pointing directly at his partner, nipples tightened to wrinkled buds, sweat standing out on his skin, "-look like I've doubts?"

Bodie growled, "Hell, no, sunshine," and reached for him. Doyle came into his arms, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and nipping gently before letting go.

"Under you," he instructed, then shoved at the larger man until he could slip beneath him, legs relaxed to either side of Bodie's hips, eyes sparkling, hands running through the black silk of Bodie's hair. "I want to be able to kiss you."

"Me, too, mate," Bodie husked, stealing one for starters. "You've a tart's mouth, Ray, you know that? Could suck on it for days."

"Later days, Bodie," Ray demanded, thrusting his cock up into Bodie's pelvis, shivering at the sensation of slick flesh sliding against slick flesh. "Want you. Now." The other man heeded the desire in the softly spoken words and dipped his fingers in the gel, slowly working one past the tight ring of muscle, deeply into Ray's body. The green eyes stayed locked to his as the lean body writhed in greedy reaction to the pleasure Bodie was giving him, and he found Doyle's responsiveness incredibly erotic. A second finger joined the first, taking his time, determined to do it right, to never hurt him, only pleasure him. Soft moans were breaking from Ray's throat, each one sending a tingling through Bodie, hardening him further. He worked a third finger in, loosening his partner as much as possible, and the moans became broken pleas, urging him on, demanding action, now. He carefully withdrew his hand, slathering more gel on his straining cock before placing the tip at the entrance to Doyle's body. Ray had drawn his legs up now, knees almost to his shoulders, and he could see his anus twitching with want. With a low growl, he gave in, pushing the tip of his cock steadily into his mate, helped along by Doyle's own thrusting movements, his need to be filled, their shared urgency. When he was fully seated, his sac resting against the velvet warmth of Ray's ass, the strong thighs wrapped around his waist, strong arms wrapped around his neck, Ray's face burrowed into his shoulder, he rested for a moment, nearly coming from the tight clench of Doyle's body wrapped around him. He felt fully enveloped in his partner's love, more at home than anywhere he had ever been in his life.

Then Ray moved, and suddenly he couldn't think, could only feel, move, thrust, revel in the scent and sound and sensation of his partner. He leaned back to ease the strain on Ray's legs, and the smaller man let him withdraw after a long drugging kiss. Then he settled into a driving rhythm, one hand snaking down between their bodies to capture Ray's cock and pump him in counterthythm . Ray was moaning with each thrust, small gasping sounds that were quickly sending Bodie to the edge. Then with a single scream of "Bo-die!!" Ray came, sending a hot stream of liquid between their bodies in three sharp pulses. Bodie gasped at the muscular contractions milked his cock, thrusting as deeply as possible and holding himself there through Doyle's climax, until the squeezing tore his control from him and he came with an inarticulate groan, shuddering against Doyle's body.

When he could move again, he gingerly rolled away from Ray, pulling him up to cuddle into his shoulder, shifting one arm behind his partner's head to thread his fingers through the damp curls at the base of his skull, cradling his lover's head against him. He ran his other hand gently through the drying semen sparkling on Ray's chest hair. Lowering his head, he tasted Ray, licking at a nipple until he was satisfied that it was clean before moving to the other one. A muffled, laughing groan from above his head caused him to raise up and look at his mate.

"I'm dead, Bodie, and you're still going. What did they give you in hospital, anyway?"

"It's the meat, sunshine. You eat too many veggies, not enough protein," he stated as seriously as he could, then laughed at the expression on the elfin face against the pillow. "Naw, I just can't get enough of you, Ray."

The green eyes twinkled up at him, and slender hands drew him back up against the pillow. "Time and enough for that later, Bodie. You need your rest now." Turning his face into his partner's neck and nuzzling for a moment, Ray added, "All the time in the world, luv."

Above him, Bodie smiled, a rare, full smile that lit up his entire face. Doyle was his, and he was Doyle's, and now that they both knew it, there really was time. Time that hadn't been there before. For all the hell Harp had put them through, he should thank him for that, at least. If only all his past sins would result in such blessings he'd be a lucky man. Looking down at the golden brown curls tickling his nose, he realized he already was. He kissed the top of Ray's curls, and pulled him closer, drifting off to sleep.

-- THE END --